


The Great and Powerful

by notgrungybitchin



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, OTP: soulmates in crime, Season/Series 01, The Emerald City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2046618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notgrungybitchin/pseuds/notgrungybitchin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meyer returns to New York -- and to Charlie -- after a deal goes sour in Atlantic City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great and Powerful

The cold October air had fallen into a mist. It hovered through the looming trees and settled over the empty road.  Headlights broke the darkness –- a solitary car coming from New Jersey. It swerved just slightly, hesitating, and then pulled over to the side of the road.

Meyer leaned on the steering wheel, resting his forehead in his hands. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the water droplets forming on the window. The night air looked inviting; cold and damp. He didn’t want to feel comfortable.

Meyer stepped out of the car. He hesitated, running his fingers down the icy metal of the open door, before slamming it shut.

He took a few steps off the road, stopping just before the line of trees extended into forest. He considered going further, but instead he stopped and sat. Or rather, he knelt on the ground, digging his knees into the mud and dewy grass.

Meyer despised dirt, but the dust of the warehouse floor had stained his knees. He needed to cover it up, to make it go away, and the soil of the untouched forest floor seemed just the thing.

He curled into himself, resting his forehead on the cold earth. And he was there again, in the warehouse, with the gasping of Teo D’Alessio invading his ears.

He had known in that moment that he was going to die.

With every past fight, every close call, he’d felt a rush of anger and determination. But never before that sinking realization -- that certainty of death. Not since he was a kid, on one of those nights that he tried not to think about. And that was when he was too young to really understand it.

He had let himself die there, let himself no longer exist, just so he would be ready.

Then, Nucky was untying his hands. And he was still alive.

Meyer thought for a moment he was going to be sick. He opened his mouth and inhaled the icy night air. His lungs still worked, he could still smell the grass and the soil. There was a humming sound as a truck passed. He sat up to see it slow only slightly at the sight of the parked car before driving on.

He was suddenly aware that he was shivering violently, and not from the cold. He stood up, brushed his knees, and walked back to the car. It was still two hours on the road until New York, and he was tired.

 

* * *

 

 _“Fuck._ ” Charlie shook his hand as the cigarette fell to the floor.  He examined the small red marks where his fingers had slipped. This one had burned to the end, and he wondered why he hadn’t extinguished it yet. He was uneasy, and he couldn’t conceive of trying to sleep. He glanced at the overflowing ash tray on the small table by the couch, then again at the clock on the wall.  _Three thirty._

Worry was stupid. That’s what he had told himself when the day passed by with no word from Meyer. Charlie assumed by now he would not see his partner until the morning. He told himself that was normal.

The location of their unofficial headquarters shifted all the time, but recently, Charlie’s apartment had seen frequent use. It fit for when they wanted to work together into the late hours, as they often did. It had space, and Meyer could stay if he wanted. He rarely slept, but Charlie could if he needed to. More often, he would stay awake with Meyer. They would sit out together on the living room floor, piles of cigarette ash surrounding them, and work and plan until dawn broke through the windows.

The deal in Atlantic City should have wrapped up by early evening, but Meyer never said he’d come by the apartment as soon as he got back to the city. He often had other dealings, and maybe some stuff to sort out with Benny that Charlie wasn’t  _always_ let in on.

Just usually.

There was a quiet knock. Charlie shot up from the couch, but Meyer never knocked. He couldn’t shake his nerves, and as he approached the door he regretted not grabbing his gun from the other room.

“Yeah? ”

“It’s me _,_ ” answered the familiar voice. Charlie threw open the door.

Meyer glanced up at Charlie, but his eyes were elsewhere. He brushed straight past him into the apartment.

“What happened to your key?”

Silence. Meyer had taken off his jacket. He was shoving up his shirt sleeves as he sat on the couch. Charlie glanced at the jacket uneasily. It had been tossed in a crumpled pile on the floor, and there was mud on the arms.

“Is Benny around?” The question pulled Charlie from his haze.

It was a strange thing to ask. Benny never hung around Charlie without Meyer present. Not if he could help it.

“No,” said Charlie. “He’s…I dunno…da qualche parte.” Charlie never worried about Benny. That was Meyer’s job.

Meyer leaned back and stretched his neck over the back of the couch.

He sighed. “Could I have a cigarette?”

Charlie sat next to Meyer and handed him one of his own. Meyer just held it.

“You need a light too?” Charlie laughed and reached for his lighter, “What the fuck, Mey?”

Meyer turned to reach for it, and his eyes finally fell on Charlie. His look was unsettling—icy, but groggy and disoriented. It made Charlie uneasy. He couldn’t read it.

 “What’s wrong?” Charlie couldn’t hide the fear in his voice.

“Nothing. We just need to discuss…some things.”

“Yeah?” Charlie started picking and tearing at the couch fabric with his fingernails.

Meyer inhaled, “The deal with Chalky White….didn’t….go well.”

He glanced sideways at Charlie for just a moment before returning to his cigarette. He took a deep drag and closed his eyes.

“Che—how’d it not go well?” Charlie was shifting around now, raising his voice a little. “Why didn’t you come by to tell me before?”

“ _Because_ I just got back now,” Meyer snapped. “You can’t just…you need to let me talk, Charlie. Okay?”

“Sure,” he mumbled. But Charlie felt his chest tighten as he tried to figure how long Meyer must have been in Jersey.  _Too long._

“Thompson knew all about it. Doyle gave the whole thing up. And Chalky White was still Thompson’s man, in the end.” He blurted it out quickly and coldly, avoiding Charlie’s eyes, and took another nervous drag from his cigarette.

“So…we need to work out how we can move forward from—“

“Hold on,” said Charlie. “What the fuck does all that mean?”

“I just told you Charlie,” Meyer sighed, “It means they figured it out and we need to consider—“

“No.  _What the fuck happened_? You can’t...” Charlie trailed off. He wanted to yell, demanding the whole story, but he knew that would only make Meyer retreat more. The kid never liked being told what to do. 

Meyer stared ahead into the dimness of the room. The silence terrified Charlie. He lit another cigarette to distract himself.

When Meyer finally spoke his voice sounded far away. It startled Charlie out of his haze.

“What happened…is that Chalky White set us up at the warehouse. Teo and Lucien are dead.”

Charlie didn’t give a fuck about the D’Alessios, but he realized what their deaths implied, and he felt a lump in his chest.

“How?”

Meyer’s voice was no longer distant. “Before we partnered with them, the D’Alessios lynched one of Chalky’s men. This is something that  _they failed to mention to us_. Of course.”

Meyer smashed his cigarette into the table, adding to the smattering of burn marks that covered its surface. They were all from Meyer, it was something he did when he sat in the icy anger that Charlie knew well. It called for space.

But Charlie was never good with space. So he huffed, left the couch and reached for one of the whiskey bottles horded in the small cabinet across the room. He poured a generous serving into a grimey glass.

Charlie took a gulp. He didn’t look back at Meyer. Instead, he leaned on the door frame and stared into the hall.

 There was a sharp sound, muffled and gasping, from the couch. Charlie couldn't imagine it had come from Meyer.

“ _Shit_ ,” he whispered, and turned to see his partner slumped down on the couch, curled up in the corner, clinging to his cigarette and staring through dead eyes. “Mey?” Charlie hurried to the couch and kneeled on the floor, eye level with Meyer.

 Meyer started as Charlie’s eyes met his, like someone shaken from sleep. “We need to get out of this,” he said finally.

 Charlie shifted off his knees and sat on the floor in front of Meyer. “Yeah?”

“We have to -- it just…it’s not  _our war_ ,” he said.

“Well yeah,” Charlie stammered. “It’s AR’s. But bringing in the D’Alessios _?_ That’s ours. We backed that.”

Meyer nodded. He looked like someone who’d just been kicked in the gut and was trying to swallow the pain.

“I mean, Darmody almost killed me, remember?” Charlie said. “We can’t let that go.”

“Well,” said Meyer, his eyes suddenly venomous, “that makes two of us.”

Charlie froze. “When?”

“When do you think?” snapped Meyer. “Tonight, Charlie. Chalky had us all in that warehouse for five fucking hours. Then right at the end, a fucking bloodbath.”

Charlie’s head was pounding.  They’d had their share of close calls. But when they were together, it was okay. It was part of the game. They’d discuss how to do things better next time. They’d pretend it really was just a few bloodied knuckles and bruises. They’d shake off the fear with ease, because they were there together, they’d faced it together.

But tonight, this was different. Curled up on the couch, Meyer’s eyes were drifting again.

It hit Charlie in that moment that Meyer was just a kid. He was always so fucking self-assured, it was easy to forget. Hell, he'd been forgetting for years, because Meyer always seemed so much wiser.

Charlie pressed his cigarette into the ash tray and climbed up on the couch. Meyer looked still, but as Charlie put his hand on his back he felt his shaking breaths. They eased slightly at Charlie’s touch.

Charlie shifted his arm under Meyer’s shoulder and gently scooped him up to support his head. Meyer closed his eyes and buried himself into Charlie’s neck, dropping his cigarette to the floor.

 Charlie felt Meyer’s breathing steady as he sunk into the support of his body.

They sat that way for a moment, and Charlie resisted every urge to break their silence. He thought that Meyer might be falling asleep when the words hit his ears. They were cold and matter of fact.

 “Thompson wanted me to relay a message to AR--intimidate him. That’s the only reason I’m here."

Rage shot through Charlie’s chest and he dug his fingers into Meyer’s back. The thought of anyone using Meyer like that… But especially that no good prick Thompson, playing at being a Boss, toying with Meyer’s life to prop himself up.

Charlie huffed. “You’re not fuckin’ doin' that.”

“Well yes,  _of course not_ , Charlie,” said Meyer. He sounded a little like his old self again.

Charlie smiled weakly.

“But like I said,” Meyer’s voice grew quiet again. “We need to get out of this. It’s not our city. We have nothing to gain from it. Not now, at least.”

Charlie lifted his hands to Meyer’s hair and began to run his fingers through, teasing out a little mess of strands. It’s what he would have wanted Meyer to do to him, and in the moment, it was the only response that came to mind.

Meyer closed his eyes and leaned into his touch. Charlie kissed the top of his head.

“We’ll get out,” he whispered, “I’ll talk to AR. He don’t have to know.”

He looked down to see Meyer’s eyes close tightly, like a wince. Charlie lifted his chin in his hands and kissed him on the forehead.

“We’ll get out,” he repeated, but Meyer kept his eyes closed.

Charlie kissed his neck and his cheek, his forehead again. “We’ll get out,” he insisted, and he felt tears welling in his eyes.

 Meyer grabbed the back of Charlie’s hair with one hand and clutched at his back with the other. “It’s  _weak_ ,” he sighed. Charlie heard the loathing in Meyer’s voice.

“No,” said Charlie, firmly. “We won’t get anywhere for ourselves fightin' AR’s wars.”

Meyer opened his eyes and looked up at Charlie. His face was full of that familiar quiet rage.

“Let me talk to AR.”

“You’re sure?” said Charlie.

Meyer nodded.

“They’ll be sorry they left us alive,” he said. He lifted his head with abrupt determination, kissing Charlie suddenly on the mouth.

Charlie inhaled and leaned into Meyer, losing himself in his scent and taste for a moment before jerking back in surprise.  

He blinked. He understood what Meyer meant by it. It was only them in the end, the rest didn't matter. Charlie smiled, closed his eyes and rested his forehead on Meyer's.

Charlie pressed his lips to Meyer’s again, moving them up and down his neck and under his ear. Meyer ran his hand up Charlie’s neck, tugging at the base of his hair. He kissed Charlie, biting his lower lip, softly at first, then harder. Charlie gasped softly and leaned over Meyer, grabbing his hair with both hands and pulling, then cupping his face and drawing him closer into a kiss. 

Charlie wrapped his arms around Meyer, falling back onto the couch as he did, so that Meyer now lay on top of him, with his head resting under his chin.

They lay together like that, not moving, breathing for a moment.

Meyer reached up and brushed his fingers along Charlie's brow, alighting on his ear and gently tracing down to his neck.  
  
Holding Meyer close to his chest, it hit him, now more clearly than before.  _They'd tried to take Meyer away from him._ And if it weren't for Thompson's little power play, they'd have succeeded.  
  
"No," he thought, and he might have even said it out loud, because Meyer's hand froze for a moment. But Charlie was so caught up in his anger that he couldn't be sure.  
  
Meyer grasped the base of Charlie's neck--just as he always did when he saw him upset. Charlie sighed at his touch.   
  
"You outta go to bed," said Charlie. He didn't want Meyer to leave, but he realized that he must be exhausted. Knowing Meyer he probably wouldn't sleep, but Charlie hoped that he'd try.  
  
"We’ll stay out here tonight," whispered Meyer.

“Yeah?” asked Charlie, tilting his head a little.

Meyer nodded.

“Okay,” said Charlie. “Okay, yeah.”

 Meyer pulled at Charlie’s shirt, tugging at the fabric to get underneath it. He moved his hand up Charlie’s torso, as he shifted himself up to kiss him again. 

 

* * *

 

“Thompson’s not exactly a pal these days. Is he?” AR brushed past Charlie and Meyer toward the waiting car.

Charlie gazed over at Meyer. The cold autumn rain was going to soak his coat if they didn’t get into the car soon.

For a moment Meyer looked uneasy, but it passed. He leaned toward AR with his old confidence.

“This war we’re in. Charlie and I were talking. There’s no percentage in it.”

There it was again, that tact that defied his age. It was what had impressed AR in the first place, compelled him to take them under his wing. It had been a blessing. That kind of connection took them to places they never would have gone before. Yeah they had to hold umbrellas sometimes, but it was worth it.

And there were other costs. Sure there were.

 “I didn’t realize I was paying you boys for advice.”

Charlie’s pulse rose at AR’s dismissal. But he pushed it away instantly. He had to. He knew what to say.

“Well, the advice is free,” replied Charlie, “You pay us ‘cause we get our hands dirty.”

More than that.

They risked more than they were ever willing to lose, on wars that weren’t their own. All to keep the powerful in their cities, and all so those cities would remain bright and glorious. All so men like AR could remain behind their screens and keep the filth of warehouse floors off their clothes, and the sinking fear of loss out of their hearts.

Before they got into the car, Charlie gave Meyer one more glance. They had made it out of this one alive. All they had to do was take it one fight at a time. It wouldn’t be like this forever.

They were building their own city together.


End file.
